Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1887-05-21
A FRONTIER TALE.


"That's his third man ~
The one narrow street of the
frontier town was filled with surg.
ing crowd of excited men. There
were Indian fighters, scouters
gamblers, tramps, miners, specula.
tors-everything and everybody.
Every town has its bnlly-every
frontier town. Big Jim was the
bully of Hill City, and the story of
bis last adventures stamps him as A
man whom some would call heroic,
He could drink more, curse louder.
shoot quicker, and start a row soon.
er than any other man. When he
shot Lumber Joe it was a Stand.off.
1t was rough against rough. Who.
ever went under the town would be
the gamer. The death of his second
victim brought HIM certain re.
spect, for he had given the man
fair show. There was limit to the
number OF men one might kill in
Hill City. 1t was three times and
out. Big Jim had killed his third.
Two hundred men-all excited
some half crazed-all Indignant
some terribly aroused, surged down
the street to the Red Star saloon
bent on vengeance. Big Jim and
the man he had killed were alone in
the place.
"Bring him out ~
"He's got to hang ~
"Bring out the bully and cowardw
There was a rush, but it was
checked. Men had pistols and
knives in their hands, but the sight
of Big Jim with a big "navyn in
each hand cooled their ardor. A
life for a life is no revenge. They
lied when they called him a bully.
Bullies strike and run, or bluster
and dare not strike. They lied
when they called him coward,
towards do not remain to face
death.
Big Jim advanced a little. The
crowd fell back. He stood in the
door and surveyed the mob as an.
other man might have looked up at
the pine covered crest of Carriers
Peak. The mob grew quiet. There
were 200 right hands clutching
deadly weapons, but not a hand
moved. Two hundred to one is
appalling odds, but the one was
master. Seeming to face every man
of them-seeming to cover every
breast with the black muzzles of his
revolvers-the man backed away up
the road into the darkness, out of
their sight and hearing. He said
not word. There wasn't whiSp'
er from the crowd until he had dis.
appeared. The men drew long
breaths of relief. A terrible menace
had passed away.
Out into the darkness down the
rough road-over the rude bridge,
and there Big jim put up his re-
volvers, turned his face square to
the west and stepped out without a
look back to the camp. 1t was ten
miles to Harney's Bend. Men
driven from the one camp took
refuge in the other. The half way
Landmark was a bit Of valley skirted
by creek. Wayfarers who were
ljourneying by team many times
halted there. On this night there
was a lone wagon. Under the can
vas cover slept a mother and four
children. Resting against a wheel
was the husband and father, his
eyes piercing into the darkness--his
ears drinking in every sound.
Big Jim had not reached the val
ley yet when the still night air was
rent with war whoops, the crack OIL
rifles, the screams of @ woman and
her children. Indians had discover
ed the lone and almost defenseless
family. There were five scalps to
adorn their lodges. The bully and
the coward had not been discovered.
He could find safe hiding place.
Did he.
A half dozen screaming, yelling
fiends were dancing about the wagon
shooting, striking, lodging, clos
ing in on the one white man, who
somehow escaped their blows and
bullets-when there was cheer and
a rush and the navys began to crack.
Sixty seconds later dead silence had
fallen upon the valley.
One-two-three dead Indians.
The immigrant leaned against the
wagon, faint, with a wound in his
head. The wife looked out, with an
awful terror at her heart. Bullets
had Clipped and splinteied wheel
and body.
"Who are you 7" asked the I'M
migrant, as a figure approached him
from the darkness.
"Big JIM"